Summary: A handsome, popular and very elligible hockey player
wakes up in Vegas handcuffed to a woman he doesn't know—and married. What's a guy to do?

Author's Notes: This was originally a real person hockey fic
(well, real person/OFC), but I decided to make it an original fic and play with
it a bit.

Rated PG-13

1.) Viva Las Vegas

There's a thousand pretty women waitin' out there

And they're all livin' devil may care

And I'm just the devil with love to spare

Viva Las Vegas, viva Las Vegas

-- Elvis Presley, "Viva Las Vegas"

--

Intrusive sunlight stabbed into Vladimir Volkov's eyes and he
threw his arm over his face, letting out a quiet groan. He yawned and stretched
and pulled the bedsheets to his chin—they weren't the familiar 300 count that
he had on his bed at home; nor were they the rough, scratchy foam rubber kind
you found at a low-end hotel. They were nice and soft, almost silky. He rubbed
them against his cheek and murmured, as he was slowly shaken out of the last
vestiges of sleep.

Vladi opened one eye.

Something was not right here.

He sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep and grit out of his eyes,
before looking around, taking in his surroundings.

There was an empty bucket on the floor, next to his side of the
bed, and beside it were two empty bottles of Dom Perignon. A champagne glass
lay on its side, its contents spilled into the carpet, leaving behind a sticky mess.
He reached out one hand and placed it on the headboard, a large clamshell
trussed up in gold and créme lamé. He traced a fingertip over the ornate gold
medallion above the material-covered clamshell and went to slide out of bed.

Vladi found himself jerked back like a dog on a chain; something
was holding him in place—or rather, someone.

He looked down at his arm and let out a soft gasp of surprise.

A gray metal handcuff was locked around his wrist. And that
handcuff was attached to its twin. Which was currently being occupied by the
wrist of a sleeping (or possibly unconscious) female.

The girl moaned and went to cover her face with her hands. Her
wrist stayed locked in place and her eyelids fluttered open. She wrinkled her face in growing
annoyance, tugging at her shackled wrist. The girl's eyes flew open and widened in shock when she saw Vladi beside
her in the bed. She began to twist
and turn in the bed, kicking the fancy silk sheets to the floor, her arm and
legs flailing, her foot catching him flush in the jaw.

"Get away from me," she screamed, grappling for something on the
nightstand next to her side. "I've got Mace!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," he sighed, remarkably calm, working
his jaw. He gave a gentle tug on the handcuffs and the girl flopped back into
bed. "We're kind of—in a pickle."

The girl scrunched her nose at him. "Pickle?" She looked down at
her nightgown and picked at the ribbon holding the flimsy bodice together. She
shot him a wary glance. "Who are you and why are you handcuffed to me?"

"My name is Vladimir Vladimirovich Volkov, and I must ask you the
same question." He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his arm across
them, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Vladimir Vladimirovich Volkov?" she asked, a hint of a
smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Yes," he said, heaving a miserable sigh, "but you may call me
Vladi. And you are - ?"

"Abby. Nice to meet you, Vladi." Abby gave his hand a shake
before tugging on the handcuff, trying to wedge her hand free to no avail. "I
have the worst headache ever. It feels like there's a little construction crew
in there trying to get out."

"Me too," Vladi mused, tilting his head, watching on as she tried
to wriggle her hand free. "Maybe there is a key somewhere in this hotel room."

Abby stopped struggling with the cuff and began sorting through
the stuff on the nightstand, holding things up to the light before tossing them
aside. "Aha!" Abby held up a small gold key and jiggled it into the lock,
biting down on her tongue as she focused hard on the task at hand. "It's not
working . . ."

"Here," he said, holding out a large hand. "Let me try." Abby
handed him the key and he gave it a shot, before letting out a frustrated groan
and tossing it aside. "It's not the right key. Do you see anymore keys on the
table?"

Abby shook her head, snagging her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Nope."

He sighed. "I kind of have to go to the bathroo—"

"Oh no you don't," Abby
interrupted, holding up her hands. Vladi winced as the metal cuff cut into his
wrist. "There's no way in ihell/i I'm going in there with you."

Vladi sighed again and shook his head, glancing down at his
wrist, rubbing at the red, irritated skin.

How did I wind up in this position? Who is this woman and how did I ever end up handcuffed
to her? he wondered, watching Abby as she leaned over to dig
through the drawer under the nightstand. She wasn't exactly his type either;
Vladi preferred his girls to be slender, slim-hipped, with piles of long hair
he could tangle his fingers in.

And, well, young.

While Abby certainly was not a grandma, she wasn't a girl either.
She was definitely older than he. She was indeed attractive, but that's where
any similarities to any of Vladi's
previous girlfriends ended. She had shoulder length brown hair and she wasn't
even slim. She had large breasts and wide hips perfect for childbearing; she was the kind of woman his father would want him to
marry! Vladi snorted to himself.

Abby looked up and scowled at him. "What's so funny?" She pushed
her hair out of her face and pulled herself up, folding her legs underneath her
frame. Abby flattened the gauzy pleated nightgown over her thighs primly.

"Nothing," he lied, quickly. "I was just wondering how we ever
ended up in his situation."

"Me too, actually." Abby glanced about the room and set her mouth
in a straight line. "There's a videotape on that table, by the balcony." She
gestured with her shoulder and Vladi turned to look. Sure enough, a
videocassette rested atop a manila folder.

He jumped to his feet, and Abby let out a scream. "Sorry, sorry."
He hunched down his six-foot-five frame and waited for Abby to plant her feet
on the floor. "This is very hard."

She rubbed her shoulder and jabbed her elbow into his side. "That
hurt, asshole."

"Didn't do it on purpose," he muttered, lowering his voice to a
whisper, "but next time I'll make an exception." He and Abby made their way
over to the table and he picked up the tape, inspecting it.

"Let me see." She made a grab for it, but Vladi raised it out of
her reach. "No fair! Let me see!"

"I'm still looking at it," he said.

"What's there to look at?" Abby asked, grabbing onto his arm,
swiping at the tape.

"There's a label on it," he said, turning it over in his hand.
"Volkov and Ross . . . Wedding."

Abby slugged him in the arm. "No! You're lying!"

"No, it's right here. In black and white." Vladi handed her the
tape and rubbed his arm as she stared at it, her brow knotting and her lips
pursing.

"Well, I must've been wasted, because I don't remember a goddamn
thing." Abby let the tape fall from her fingers as she pressed a hand to her
forehead, reminding him of those Southern belles he'd seen on TMC, when Ethan
Conner, his teammate and the resident movie buff, made him sit through Gone
With the Wind.

He bent down to retrieve the tape slowly, bracing his free hand
on Abby's shoulder, ever mindful of his surgically repaired knee, and looked up
at her. "I think we should watch it. Maybe it'll give us some clues."

"No shirt, Sherlock." Abby grabbed the tape and she and Vladi
moved as one to the television set. Abby popped it in, pushed PLAY and stood
back, crossing her arm over her waist and tapping her foot on the floor.

Vladi watched intently as a smaller, fuzzier, and very drunk
version of himself slouched in front of a cheap altar, plastic flowers strewn
about in some sort of canopy. A man in a priest's collar and a black Elvis wig
stood beside him, holding a small Bible in his hands. The doors to the chapel
opened and the camera swung in their direction, as Abby, equally as drunk,
stumbled in on the arm of a large, beefy man in a white leather Elvis jumpsuit.

"Oh my God." Abby pressed her hands to her face. "I was given
away by Elvis?"

Vladi turned his attention back to the TV.

". . . and by the power vested in me, by the state of Nevada, and
by the Dancing Elvis Casino and Chapel, I now pronounce you husband and wife.
You may kiss the bride."

The Vladi on the TV screen pawed the white tulle veil away from
the Abby on the TV screen's face and puckered his lips, as she cringed and
tried to push him away.

"Kiss me. I'm Irish," said Vladi's television doppelganger.

Meanwhile, back in the hotel room of the giant gold clamshell and
the mirrored ceiling and the pricey champagne and the expensive silk sheets,
Vladi cringed. "Jesus."

Abby stabbed at the STOP button and jerked on his arm, viciously.
"There's no way in Hell I'm spending one more minute chained to you! There has
to be a way!" She looked around the room frantically, head swiveling. "I have
to get out of here. I'm going to throw up!"

Abby ran for the bathroom, Vladi in tow, and fell to her knees in
front of the toilet, as she heaved into the bowl. He bent over and pulled some
toilet paper off the roll, holding it out to her.

"Thank you." She wiped her mouth, crumpled the Kleenex into a
ball and threw it away, before sitting back on her haunches and throwing her
head back. "Why me, God? What did I do to deserve this?"

"Hey! My mom says I'm a fine catch," Vladi insisted.

Abby's face contorted, and for a second, Vladi thought she might
cry. Instead, she burst out laughing. "Oh, honey, that's adorable," she
giggled, but Vladi had the distinct feeling she was mocking him.

Vladi sulked, jutting out his bottom lip in a petulant pout.
"That's what she said."

Abby gave him a pat on the knee and grinned sunnily, her features
brightening and her eyes crinkling in the corners. "I'm sure she did."

Vladi joined Abby against the wall and flicked his thumb at the
rug, unhappily. "I say we find a chainsaw and hack off your arm and have done
with it."

"Wait a minute! We might not have to resort to chopping off body
parts just yet," Abby said, patting him on the arm and winking. "I may have
some paperclips in my purse. Maybe I can jimmy the lock!"

"Great idea! Let's go." Vladi got to his feet, forgetting their
height difference, and almost pulled Abby's arm out of its socket—for the
second time that morning. Or was it afternoon? He had no idea, and frankly, he
didn't care. All he cared about was freeing himself from this woman.

The two of them raced back into the room and Abby spotted her
purse resting on top of the hope chest at the end of the bed. She pulled Vladi
along, and threw herself at the purse like a lineman after a quarterback,
ripping it open and tearing through it.

"Aha! Found it!" Abby held the paperclip between her teeth and
straightened it out before sliding it into the keyhole and wriggling it in the
lock. Vladi stood beside her and prayed silently that her plan would work, and
that he would soon be freed from this prison.

After a few more tense seconds, as Abby jimmied the lock, the
handcuffs unlatched and fell to the floor. Abby let out a yell of triumph and
pulled her arm to her chest, protectively, as if she felt like Vladi would come
after it and try to reclaim it.

Vladi rubbed his aching wrist. "Thank God."

"Free at last, free at last. Thank God almighty, I'm free at
last." Abby went over to the set of drawers and began tossing her things into
her carry-on bag, as Vladi took inventory of his belongings.

The three hundred dollars was in its place in the pocket of his
corduroys; at least she wasn't a thief. His black leather jacket was folded
neatly and waiting for him on top of the dresser and his shoes were on the
floor next to said dresser. His gold wristwatch and a Ziplock of toiletries were
sitting on his nightstand; everything looked to be in place.

"Well," Abby said, slinging the strap of her bag over her
shoulder, pushing her hair out of her face, "if you leave me your address, I
can have annulment papers to you first thing Monday morning." She checked her
watch. "By the way, it's Saturday. Afternoon."

"Thanks," he said, scratching out his address on a scrap of hotel
stationery. "Here you go."

Abby smiled and tucked the slip of paper into the pocket of her
coat. "Well, nice knowin' ya, Mr. Volkov. Hope I never have to see you again!"
Abby waved cheerily and left.

Vladi spotted the tape sitting on the bed and grabbed it, running
after her. "Wait, what about the tape?" he called out, but she was already
gone.

--

"Happy Training Camp, Vlad. This should, like, be a national
holiday." His goalie Andy Everston clipped Vladimir in the jaw with his large
waffle mit.

Andy grinned. "I don't think we have anything to worry about
then, Vlad!" he teased.

Vladi glowered at the goalie. "Very funny, Andy."

"How'd you spend the lockout, Vlad?" asked the ever jovial Ethan
Conner, stepping onto the bus that would take the players to Traverse City.
Conner slid in next to Everston and pulled the goalie's mitt off his hand.
"Let's play keepaway!"

"Hey! Give it back!" Andy grabbed for the mitt, but Conner swung
it out of reach and he ended up grabbing only air.

"I went home to play in an exhibition match," he said, opening up
his backpack and pulling out his laptop. "And then I went to Las Vegas and I
won three hundred bucks!"

"Wow," mocked Conner, tossing Andy's waffle mitt to an open
teammate at the front of the bus. "Way to go, Vladi."

"Shut up." Vladi opened up his email and scrolled past the miles
of spam. One subject line stood out, and he scrunched his brow.

ATTENTION: URGENT. PLEASE READ.

He opened the email and began to read. 'Vladimir, I know I'm
probably the last person you want to hear from, but I have some bad news. Or,
good news, depending on whether you see the glass half empty or the glass half
full . . .'

"You okay, Vlad? You look kind of - upset," Andy said, draping
his arms over the back of the his seat, peering at Vladi from behind the
headrest.

"I - It is nothing," he said, breathlessly. "Just some -
interesting news. From back home." Vladi quickly powered down the machine and
closed it, holding it on his lap.

He was still married to a woman he barely knew. And all he knew of her, he didn't really
like.

And this wife was coming to see him in Traverse City.

It couldn't get much worse than this, could it?

--

TBC

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